


it's hard to find someone to hold your hand

by Maharetchan



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Child Death, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Past Abuse, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maharetchan/pseuds/Maharetchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margot is an island in the middle of the ocean; Alana is not afraid of swimming.</p><p>Set in the aftermath of "Digestivo".</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's hard to find someone to hold your hand

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is, I'm so sorry.

They bury the child themselves: one early morning, they walk together through the park, towards one of the most secretive and peaceful parts of the farm and dig the grave that will accommodate him with their own hands.

 

Alana is sure she has never seen Margot wear anything that costs less than a few hundreds of dollars, but, truth be told, she has never looked more beautiful to her than she does now in a pair of worn out jeans, an old sweater far too big for her and tracking shoes: she looks different, younger in a way that makes her think with a pang of regret of the woman she could've been if life hadn't been so cruel to her.

 

Loose strands of hair fall on her face and she pushes them back patiently, soiling them with mud, but not caring at all: from time to time, she glances at the small, white coffin they have carried all the way from the house.

 

“We should give him a name. He deserves to have one, even though... even thought he'll never get to hear or use it.”

 

Nearly forgotten reminiscences of her training come back to her: it's good that she refers to her dead child as a person, that she wants to name him; she's working through her grief at her own pace, in a quiet and solemn way. The old Alana would have been loud in offering her help, desperate to be a part of the healing process, eager to work it as she wanted it to go.

 

Now she says nothing: she nods vaguely, and Margot stops working to dab her forehead, covered in minute beads of sweat and dirt; Alana feels the need to kick the shovel away and go hold her, wrap her in her arms, like she did with Will once, thinking it could've helped.

 

But now she knows that nothing helps, nothing protects you from grief and pain.

 

“What name would you like?”

 

“I... I don't know? I never thought about it before. I wanted a child, but I completely forgot he would've needed a name. God I'm so...”

 

Margot cries without making a sound: years of abuse train you well to hide what you're feeling, to suffer with the smallest amount of manifestation possible, in complete silence, because anything could make it worse, could bring more pain upon you. If I could change one thing, just one, if I was granted this gift just once, I would erase what happened to you, I would give you the life you deserved. I would do that just for you, I swear.

 

Her thoughts are a heavy weight on her stomach, but she swallows them down.

 

“I've always liked Samuel; it means 'name of God'. It was my grand-grand-grandfather's name: he came here to America from a small German village where his surname was Blumenthal. That's how the story goes: he was supposed to be on the Titanic with his nine children and his wife, but had a vision sent to him by God of the tragedy the night before sailing and stayed behind, saving them himself and his family. Personally, I never believed a word of it: but it's fascinating to see your family's origins slowly turn into folklore as the generations pass.”

 

Margot relaxes and takes a deep breath, wiping away her tears with an angry gesture.

 

“It's a beautiful story.”

 

Alana walks towards her and gently puts a hand on her arm: she doesn't pull away, which, at least, comforts her, even though she has her eyes fixated on the hole in the ground that extends in front of her.

 

How is it to say goodbye to someone you'll never truly get to know? To cry for a child you could never raise, for a life wasted because of hate and madness? Alana imagines there must be an even bigger hole inside of her, but that it's not her job to fill it.

 

You can't heal by proxy, you can't recover in the place of who's really broken: you have to allow the wounds to close on their own, or they'll never truly stop bleeding.

 

“Samuel, then. Maybe he's with your grandfather somewhere now, and he's telling him about the prophetic dream that saved him from the Titanic.”

 

Alana smiles, but makes no other sound: she presses her lips against the pulse point on her neck, kissing her so gently, like she afraid they both might shatter if she applied too much pressure. They're broken and scarred, they're terrified and there is nowhere they could safely land anymore.

 

Here's Margot lowering the coffin of her child in the earth, watching it as it disappears under dirt and mud.

 

Here's Alana who wishes she could fix everything, but is not angry at the world anymore when she realizes she can't.

 

They say nothing after, not even when the woman lays down a few flowers on the grave: Alana doesn't ask question, because maybe she understand her and that gaping sense of loss she must have inside of her far too well to say anything.

 

She holds Margot all day, as they lie in bed, mostly awake: sometimes the other woman cries; most of the times, she stays in silence.

 

“I'm doing something Doctor Lecter taught me during one of our sessions: I'm closing up inside myself, I'm gathering my strength. I'm fixing the cracks inside my soul with gold.”

 

“You're already golden, you always have been.”

 

Margot shakes her head, but doesn't pull away when Alana puts her head on her chest, right where her heart is beating calm and placid.

 

There is a closeness between them they can't deny, but that comes with the heavy price of memory: looking at each other, they see the monsters they have faced, those that almost killed them.

 

They see a past that will come back to haunt them one day. Alana remembers that promise; she knows it was not an empty threat.

 

Margot has scars on her body that will never disappear, has even deeper marks on her soul, but when she looks at them, Alana is not horrified: she wants to put her lips and tongue and fingers on them, massage them until they'll transform in rivers of gold and precious stones.

 

Alana has a broken heart full of spite, regrets and grief, but not for the life she had, not for the possibilities she has lost: she grieves for Abigail Hobbs, for Beverly Katz, for little Samuel, and for the innocence Margot was deprived of. She has no space in her heart for anyone else.

 

But, curiously, she has almost no space for anger anymore either: she starts carving new ones inside her heart. For the future, for what could come.

 

“You don't have to stay; you certainly do not have to have this baby with me. I would never ask you. I'm thankful to you; I appreciated you being here over the past few days, for not leaving me alone, but... you're free to go if you want.”

 

“I don't want to.”

 

“Why?”

 

Alana doesn't have a definitive answer: because I have nowhere else to go? No, that's not it. A whole new life of opportunities just opened up in front of her.

 

Because I don't want to be alone? She's fine on her own, she never truly needed anyone other than herself, after all.

 

“Because this is where I should be, where I want to be. There'll be hard decisions to make: I want to be there for you when you make them.”

 

“You barely know me: I'm sure there are people you know better who might need you more than I do. Will Graham, for example.”

 

The name is like poison for her: it makes her heart shrink and rebel against the sudden feeling of disgust that fills her mouth and her insides. She used to want to save him, perhaps succeeded in the end, by giving up her revenge for his life.

 

She tried to go see him in the hospital, but turned back around and ran away when caught a glimpse of him in his room.

 

There's nothing for her there: nothing but ghosts that she needs to let finally go.

 

“I'm not interested in getting to know and help this new Will. But I want to get to know you, if you'll allow me to.”

 

Because, in the end, Margot could be hope, she could be a new beginning: she's a fire that has been covered in ashes all her life, and that only now is being given the chance to burn freely. Alana wants to know how it'll feel to hold it in her hands, to allow it to warm her and bring her back to life.

 

Margot nods after a while; and Alana understands that it is a yes.

 

\-----

 

They don't bury Mason.

 

His body is cremated and, once at home, Margot dumps the ashes in the toilet.

 

Alana kisses her on the lips and caresses her hair, closing her eyes when the woman suddenly hugs her.

 

She inhales Margot's scent: for a moment, they are at peace.


End file.
